Page 49 of Her Only Hero

“Thank you, Officer,” Dr. Hamid said as Patrick held the door open.

My knees weakened, destabilized. Damn visceral reaction. Aram smiled at me. Oh, those dimples.

“Good morning,” Dr. Hamid said. “Is there any conclusive news?”

I shook my head. “There’s no match.”

His lips pressed together. “Not ideal.”

Edward pivoted his eyes sideways at us as he walked by.

“I won’t keep you, June,” Aram whispered. “I’d like to have a quick chat about the other day. But it can wait.”

“I have time now,” I said and tried to figure out what Aram could have been referring to. He gestured with a head tilt, and I followed him into the hallway. “What’s up?”

The clip-clopping of shoes echoed in the corridor, and Aram paused from talking.

Lara Armstrong approached. “Was there a fire alarm?”

“No alarm,” I said. “Dr. Hamid and I are just talking about a case.”

“That’s a relief. I was afraid the autoclaves overheated again. Good morning, by the way,” Lara said.

“Good morning,” Aram and I harmonized.

I waited until the lab door closed. “Aram, you’ve got me curious.”

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be cryptic. I wanted to let you know I had an odd occurrence, or coincidence, happen.”

“Really?” He had me stumped. I had no clue where this could be going.

“Remember asking me about Dr. Stan Fulthorpe?”

I listened intently. “Yes, I do. At the house I had inquired about him because his name was on a business card I had found on the property.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t so random.”

“How?” My mouth dropped open.

“I have privileges, and I do consultations at St. Eugene’s. Yesterday I attended hematology rounds at the hospital,” Aram continued.

He licked his bottom lip before speaking. He had full lips. I backed away from him slightly.

“Stan Fulthorpe’s partner, Gideon Crawford, had presented a talk on bone marrow transplants and antirejection medications.”

Patrick and I had spoken with Dr. Crawford at the hospital. “I’ve met him,” I said. “He seems—”

“Seems what?”

“Odd. Don’t you think?”

Aram chuckled. “You’re putting it nicely. He’s an ass. A very wealthy ass. And a prominent member of all the exclusive clubs.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said. He was, after all, a doctor, and a specialist.

“No, I mean obscenely wealthy,” Aram emphasized. “For example, I buy art prints. But he buys originals.”

“Oh,” I said and tried to comprehend having that kind of money.

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